by Virna DePaul
“You were more difficult to find than I thought you’d be,” he called, even though it was a lie. He’d known where she was every minute. Mahone had made sure of that, notifying him of her coordinates via his cell. “Must be the lack of bloody bodies I was expecting.”
Wraith jerked to standing and turned to face him. Although she quickly scowled, he didn’t miss the second of relief that flashed across her features. “This is becoming a refrain, but what the hell are you doing here, O’Flare?”
He snorted. “You didn’t think I was going to let you go that easily, did you?”
Walking toward her, he watched her fumble for a response.
Good. He liked keeping Wraith unsettled. It happened so rarely, and he needed every advantage he could get when it came to her.
“You don’t ‘let’ me do anything, O’Flare. And I’m not coming back, so you can tell Mahone—”
“I’m not here because of Mahone.”
She laughed. “Bullshit. Why else would you be here?”
Her accusation made him feel guilty for about half a second. “Mahone asked me to track you down, true. He gave me a head start on where you were. But I would have come after you anyway. You know that.”
“Really? And why’s that?” Cocking a brow, she propped a hand on her hip in an arrogant gesture that was quickly dispelled by the wriggling going on in her poncho pocket. Distracted, she looked down, mumbling something.
“Because I want you. And I know you want me, too. What happened, Wraith? Did you suddenly get scared it would mean more to you than you were prepared for?”
Her head snapped up. “No. Besides, you don’t want me. You want to save me. So quit fucking around with me, O’Flare.”
His mouth twisted in a grimace of a smile. “Poor choice of words, Wraith.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You know what I mean. Don’t play—”
“I know what you mean. Now why don’t you tell me what the hell you’ve got wriggling around in your pocket so we can get to L.A. and get started on our next mission?”
Her hands came up and seemed to cup themselves protectively over the pocket lying against her stomach. It was one of those big tube pockets that a person could stick both hands in at the same time. Despite the positioning of her hands, he saw a piece of gray fur flicker in and out of the pocket, causing his brow to arch.
“Dex’ll be jealous,” he said wryly, even though his words made him uncomfortable. He hadn’t missed the fact that she and the were had bonded in some way in North Korea, nor had he missed the fact that seeing Dex in wolf form rubbing against her leg had made him want to rip the wolf’s throat out.
“Please,” she snorted. “He’d have to care to be jealous. The Para-Ops team might work well together, but its members, first and foremost, care only about one thing—what we’re going to get at the end of it all.”
Tauntingly, he asked, “So you don’t care what happens to us? Lucy? Dex?” He paused. “Me?”
She hesitated. “I . . . I didn’t say that.”
“Then you do care?”
She frowned and shook her head. “No . . .”
He stepped closer.
“No?”
She held up a hand, palm facing him. “Stop. I’m not playing your games. If you and the others want to do Mahone’s dirty work for him and risk not getting whatever the hell it is he’s promised you, then by all means, do it. I don’t give second chances.”
“Even though that’s what you’ve been given?” he asked quietly.
She startled. “A second chance? Is that what you think I am?”
“You’re the walking dead, Wraith. Seems like a second chance to me.”
“A second chance to see the evil in the world. To hurt and be hurt. To feel”—she swallowed hard—“to feel pain.” She turned away. “To be alone,” she muttered.
He saw her hand move and knew she had put her hand inside her pocket to pet the furry creature she had sequestered inside there. He remembered the way she’d stroked Dex when he’d been in wolf form. How it hadn’t seemed to hurt her then, either. How jealous he’d been at that realization.
“You’re choosing to be alone, Wraith. Choosing to leave the team. Come back with me. Help us with this mission, and I promise I’ll make sure Mahone gives you what it is you need.”
“Making me promises now? And I’m supposed to believe you? After what you pulled for Mahone? You’re nothing but Mahone’s lackey.”
“So now that bothers you? A day ago, you—”
“Don’t even try. Leave. The last thing I’m going to do is help you. Any of you, let alone a bunch of felines I don’t even know.”
“That’s it? It’s all about getting what you want? Fuck the greater good?”
She looked away, but only for an instant. “That’s right.”
“Then you’re not the person I thought you were.”
“That was your first mistake, O’Flare. I’m not a person. I’m nothing. No one. You don’t have to pretend you care.”
“I guess not.” He turned away, then stopped and turned back toward her. “Good luck, Wraith. I hope wherever you’re going gives you the answers you want. And that you don’t—”
She stepped toward him, frowning, her gaze on his chest. “What the . . . ? It’s still there . . .” he thought she whispered, but before he could ask what she was talking about, her gaze jerked up to his. “What . . . what’s happened since I’ve left? What’s Mahone told you?” she asked.
“Excuse me?”
“Have you been briefed on the assignment?”
He stepped closer to her. “A little. Why?”
She looked away, then back toward him. “Just curious.”
“Uh-huh.” He tilted his head and studied her. “You were staring at my chest. Why?”
“Just admiring your muscles,” she said smoothly.
He knew she was lying. “Wraith, why—”
“What is Mahone giving you to serve on the Para-Ops team, anyway?” Almost reflexively, her hands returned to her front pocket, both hands rubbing its contents.
The stroke of her fingers mesmerized him and he once again felt true jealousy for the creature she touched. He shook his head to clear it. “What?”
“You heard me.”
He shrugged.
Rolling her eyes, she shook her head. “Figures. So there’s nothing you want that badly?”
“You’re wrong. There’s something I want very badly. Sometimes you can’t get what you want, no matter who’s willing to give it to you.” As he spoke, his gaze remained unwavering on hers. She licked her lips.
“Fine,” she said, her jaw clenched.
“Fine?”
“I’ll come back with you.”
“Why the turnaround?”
“I just decided, you’re right. Maybe a second chance is what I’ve been given, and maybe it’s what I should give Mahone. One more chance. Besides, something tells me sitting on a bus all the way to Maine is liable to bore me to death.”
“Yeah, plus, who knows what else you’re liable to pick up along the way?” His gaze once again dropped pointedly to her pocket.
“I’m not taking it with me.”
He watched as her hands continued to stroke.
“Okay.”
“I’m not.”
“I’m not disagreeing with you. But why don’t you let me hold it while you get your things?”
She hesitated, then reached in, plucked the tiny kitten out of her pocket, and gingerly handed it to him. “Careful,” she whispered. “He’s fragile.”
Caleb nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of him.”
And you, he thought. Whether you want me to or not.
TWELVE
“A motorcycle?” Wraith said in disbelief when she saw the slick Ducati. “You followed me on a motorcycle?”
Caleb shrugged. “What, you thought Dex was the only one who knows how to ride a bike?”
“No, but I’m not going to L.A. on a motor
cycle driven by you, Dex, or anyone else.”
“No kidding. That many hours with someone, and you’d surely kill your escort.” He waited for her to comment on the bike’s color—which he’d just realized matched the color of her electric blue shoes to a T—but she didn’t. Staring at the pair of sunglasses she wore, the pair she was almost never without, regardless of the time of day or the weather, he said absently, “It’ll just be to the nearest airport. We’ll catch a flight from there.” He’d seen her hazed-over eyes before. Knew they resembled cloudy cataracts. But he hadn’t really given her vision much thought. Did she view the world differently not just because of her experiences but because of her biology?
She didn’t move. Just continued to stare at the bike with something akin to horror. Her expression temporarily wrenched Caleb away from his thoughts and made him stifle a smile. “You’re not afraid of the bike, are you?”
She shot him a droll look. “Of course not.”
“Then it must be me you’re afraid of.”
“I’m more afraid of the bike than I am you, O’Flare, and I already told you, I’m not afraid of the bike.”
She was afraid, all right. Maybe not of the bike, but of the contact it would force them to endure. Hell, there’d be no enduring going on for him. More like savoring. His decision to go after Wraith on the bike had been a deliberate one, which she’d probably figure out sooner than later. The question was whether she’d risk revealing her own discomfort by saying something about it. He was betting she wouldn’t. “Great. Then there’s no problem.” He handed her a helmet. The only helmet. “Hop on.”
“I don’t need a helmet, O’Flare. If we crashed, you’d need it more than I would.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m quite aware of how invincible you are. Please . . . just humor me.”
She looked like she was going to argue with him some more, but instead she asked, “Why can’t I drive?”
Instead of answering, he said, “You like the color of my bike, Wraith? It’s one of my favorites.”
She rolled her eyes, then nodded impatiently. “Yeah, it’s gorgeous, O’Flare. Now answer my question.”
“I will. But only if you answer one for me first.”
“What has gotten into you? We’re wasting time here.” When he didn’t respond, she blew out an impatient sigh and waved him on. “Ask and maybe I’ll answer. Maybe I won’t.”
“What color is my bike?”
He saw the way she immediately closed off before she narrowed her eyes at him. “What the hell does that matter?”
He tried to remember if she’d ever commented on a color before. Referred to anything in terms of a color. She hadn’t. Her response only confirmed his suspicions. “You don’t know, do you? You don’t see in colors, do you, Wraith?”
“You’re being ridicu—”
“What do you see with those hazy eyes of yours? Do you even see the same things I do?”
She didn’t make a snotty comment about his visions or dreams. “Why do you want to know?”
Because he wanted to know her. Know what she saw. What she felt, even if it was just pain. “You wanna drive, don’t you? Let’s just say I’d like to know what a person driving me around can see, that’s all.”
She looked dubious, then pissed, then resigned. “I see black and white. Shades of gray.”
Averting her gaze, she stared into the distance, prompting him to ask, “That’s the only difference?”
She glared at him and practically stamped her foot in frustration. Instead, she threw up her arms in disgust. “I see death, Caleb. Death in many forms. I see death marks on people dying. I see trees without leaves, even when others say they’re there. I see the end of life, even as people try to hold on to it. I see exactly what a dead human should see. Is that honest enough for you?”
He kept his expression bland but felt the muscles in his jaw constrict. Not so much because of what she’d said, but how she said it. Sometimes, when he needled her enough, Wraith gave him a glimpse of her emotions and the pain she always bore. Even as he told himself he should stop, that it was better for her to suppress the pain on some level if she could, he couldn’t help poking at her. It was when she expressed her pain and emotion that she seemed the most human, and thus the most accessible to him. Finally, he nodded. “Yes. That’s honest enough.” He swung onto the bike and looked expectantly at her. “Let’s go.”
She laughed in disbelief. “So why can’t I drive?” she asked again.
“Because of Garfield, remember? The cat,” he clarified when she shot him a confused look. “It seems to like you, and traveling on the motorcycle will probably freak it out at first. You’ll want to comfort it, right?” He pointed to the bike. “Put it in the case right there. You’ll be able to reach in and touch it if you need to.”
She was frowning, probably because he’d dared to assume she’d comfort anything. But she simply slipped the cat where he’d pointed, put on the helmet, then swung onto the bike behind him. She braced herself for him to take off, but he didn’t.
Without looking back at her, he said, “Oh, I should let you know some things. First, I’m particularly fond of the colors black and white. That said, I wish you could see more. The earth in full color and full bloom is an amazing sight. It’s holy. Enough to make a doubter believe in something bigger at work.” She jerked against him and he hesitated, then shifted around to look at her over his shoulder. “Oh, and you should get comfortable, because the nearest airport is a few hours away,” he said.
That broke her out of her silence. “A few . . . ?” Her voice was tinged with something close to panic.
Smiling again, he started the motorcycle and shot away.
She’d obviously ridden a motorcycle before. She sat on the bike with ease and moved fluidly with him whenever they took a curve or turn in the road. At first, she tried to put as much distance between them as she could, but he purposely accelerated into a couple of turns until she had no choice but to lightly place her hands on either side of his waist.
An hour into the ride, he wondered if he’d made a mistake.
Despite the fresh air blasting him from all sides, and despite the fact that she barely touched him, he felt suffocated by her. By desire. By the overwhelming need to stop the bike and pull her into the grass on the side of the road and kiss her and pound into her until she screamed his name with pleasure, not in pain. Of course, that was impossible. But he still fantasized, and part of his fantasy was based on reality.
He’d kissed her before, and had felt the give of her breasts when her body had pressed against his. Her mouth had been soft and moist, which told him other places on her body would be, too.
She shifted slightly and he imagined her wriggling as she adjusted to the feel of his cock inside her. His dick grew hard. Arousal combined with the constant vibration of the motorcycle caused his balls to ache so bad he had to clench his teeth.
Another hour later, and he felt his sanity beginning to slip.
Shit. He needed to stop. Get away from her before he howled in frustration and did something really stupid. Like wrapped his arms around her and begged her to take him into her and make him forget anything or anyone else had ever existed.
Idiot, he told himself. Why couldn’t he learn? She was a wraith who couldn’t experience pleasure without pain. And he couldn’t—wouldn’t—hurt her. Besides, while he was suffering the tortures of the damned, she seemed completely at ease, her grip light and steady on him. That made him madder than anything else.
Clasping the bike’s handlebars in an effort to get control of himself, Caleb took the first exit he saw. He navigated the bike toward a looming chain restaurant with the desperation of a man who’d been wandering the desert for days and had finally caught sight of shelter.
A few minutes, that’s all he needed. A few minutes without her body pressed up against him, and he’d be ready to go. Ready to face whatever challenge she threw his way.
Riding with her body p
ressed tightly to Caleb’s had given Wraith a true high. With no one to see her and every excuse to hold him and press her body against him—with their bodies fully clothed and no pain resulting from the touch—she could simply soak in the rare intimacy of being close to another. And not just anyone, but Caleb, the man she’d desired for what seemed like forever.
The bike rumbled between her thighs, exacerbating the ache caused by feeling her breasts smashed up against Caleb’s broad back, and by the fact that his muscular butt was sandwiched firmly up against her pelvis. She’d never been in such close or prolonged contact with another person in her entire ten years of wraith life. There was no denying that it alternately rattled and aroused her.
For the first half hour, she’d tried to touch him as little as possible, but the bike was built for speed, something he obviously liked. She eventually gave up trying to maintain her space. Within the dark confines of the helmet that he’d insisted she wear, she closed her eyes, blocking out all sensation but the feel of him and the smooth way he maneuvered the rumbling bike across the deserted roads.
The Italian sports bike was more like a work of art than a piece of machinery. Completely different from the Harley Dex drove. Wraith wrapped her arms more tightly around Caleb and focused on the subtle movement of his muscles underneath his jacket. His hair whipped against the visor of her helmet, and she remembered how silky it had felt when he’d kissed her at Felicia and Knox’s wedding. And how he’d immediately pulled away.
How would it have been if they’d finished what they’d started then? If she’d explored his body the way she’d wanted to? First, his broad shoulders and his chest. Then his flat abdomen. Then his thighs and the hard shaft between them. What would he have done if she’d pushed him back, knelt over him, and taken him inside her mouth?
The sudden swerving of the bike as Caleb took an exit for Evanston, Wyoming, interrupted Wraith’s heated thoughts. Where the hell was he going? When he pulled into a restaurant parking lot, she tried to rein in her impatience. The guy was entitled to a bathroom break, for God’s sake.
